Skywalker: Epilogue

Today's view from the ground: New York, NY

It's all over now. I spent my first night in a bed, surrounded by soft sheets and cool air. I scrubbed the sand off my skin and out of my hair. I had a cautious amount of meat and some welcome vegetables. Morning brought me an apple, another lost privilege. I used a computer for as long as I wanted, discovering a few lines from my collection in wire stories, as well as some coverage of the battles buried in Canadian and European papers. The fall of Zawiya made headlines in America, as Tripoli and the expected end of the war lies close behind. Before that, Libya had been in a grinding stalemate too long to retain American attention.

The streets of Manhattan are hard, lined, and full of people that I awkwardly dodge or force to one side. It is a feeling I did not get even in the riots of Sfax or the chaos of Zawiya. It is the deliberateness of it all, the way the city makes a person feel. New Yorkers are always and at once kings and peasants, able to choose nearly everything in their lives, and that often paralyzes them as much as the imprisoned refugees. I saw a black man on 23rd Street, as thin as many of the children in the camp, wearing a hooded sweatshirt that boldly stated "Africa is the Future." I tried not to react and kept walking.

I also saw a woman in a burqa. All of her was a black mass of breeze and delayed movement through space on Madison Avenue, a more gentle version of the African women in the same clothing. Her eyes barely passed from her fixed veil. No other expression of sense or shape could be discerned. Were Muslim women first cloaked to relieve men of the troubled doubting gazes that women cast on a male-ruled world? Worlds without the voice of women are doomed. New York, Libya - they both feel just as likely to crumble over the decay their mirages are built on as they are even to survive.

My return to the States does not feel like the relieving reveille it often is. The world is too small; too much is connected. I read about four million Somalis, not even including the ones in our camp, poised to die of starvation. Eighteen years ago, the United States fought for the right to survive for less than half that number in Mogadishu. Now, exhausted by Afghanistan and Iraq, this country watches and cries, if it notices at all. The tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001, looms close on the horizon. It brings stories of doubt and despair back to the forefront of our minds. We do not feel safer. We do not feel better. We feel that the events of that day stole something from us and the search to get it back plunged us deeper into darkness.

In Tunisia and Libya, I was not plagued with such thoughts. Life was very simple there, even if the simplicity was harrowing and horrible. I do better closer to the margin. I can't deal with governments in wars of words. I sit at the edge of my chair and wait for someone to start shooting. But I do not wish for it. I have finally rid myself of magical thinking. Magic is there, but it lies in no action. In many ways, magic exists in the absence of action. Faith comes from the discovery that, when there is no reason to, one can still hope for better things and not be ashamed to do so.

The Libyan rebels bear many similarities to al-Qaeda and the Taliban in their fervor of faith, even with their appreciation for American and European help. I choose to believe that a new Libya will be a better Libya, a nation in which it is not necessary to fight in such horrible battles and outsiders are given more opportunities and respect. I believe this with no proof other than what appears in these pages. I believe this with my heart.

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The camp in Ras Ajdir is still home to around 4000 refugees from dozens of countries. They continue to receive aid from Doctors Without Borders, the World Health Organization, and the United Nations High Commission on Refugees, as well as other nongovernmental organizations. The Tunisian government still maintains its position of non-inclusion for most of the refugees there, although it has allowed some with prior authorization to travel through Tunisia en route to a sponsoring country. The military remains on the perimeter.

The capture of Zawiya became complete two days after the rebels took the heights, cutting Ghadafi's Tripoli off from oil and other supplies. From Zawiya, the rebels launched Operation Mermaid Dawn, a two-pronged offensive to capture Tripoli. The takeover was nearly complete on the twentieth day of Ramadan, the anniversary of the Prophet Mohammed's conquest of Mecca. Ghadafi was driven from his heavily fortified compound after most of his troops surrendered and is now in hiding while most of his family fled to Algeria. At present, the rebels wait to storm the few remaining strongholds of government support, attempting to effect complex deals with tribes and town elders in order to arrest further bloodshed.

Peter and Tom stayed with the front of Mermaid Dawn, alongside Hassan, Massoud, Ouled, and Hammou. Hassan pressed with the first line of troops against the defensive brigade that surrendered without a shot and became one of the first rebel fighters to enter Tripoli. Massoud and Ouled also advanced along the coast, but Ouled was hit by enemy fire and died two days later. Peter says that, in his last two days, he still refused daytime sustenance and died pure. Massoud stayed with him until the end, foregoing the honor of continuing on. Hammou vanished without word and has not reappeared.

Peter, Tom, Hassan, and Massoud worked triage at Tripoli's main hospital following the capture of the city. During that time, they and their colleagues discovered hundreds of bodies on floors and in shallow graves that had been killed and stored by government troops. Tom's ability to work with the dead became invaluable and he volunteered for mortuary duty with some of the clerics. Peter continues to serve as a medic in Tripoli, finishing the training of Hassan and Massoud as they work alongside him.

Fayed returned to his native Tripoli after its capture and works in the hospital. Abdulbakar is still working as a medic and humanitarian aid worker in Zawiya, receiving more training from French volunteers. Arthur and Mark returned to England. Arthur and his wife are enjoying the end of a beachside summer. Mark lives in Manchester with his girlfriend and admitted to me a week later that he is Canadian, saying "I can't believe you had the balls to say you were American over there." Dani toured Paris and London before returning to his home in Israel for a well-deserved break.

Youssef and Ayesha returned to Tunis without incident and, to everyone's relief, discovered their complete family was unharmed in the upswing of violence. Most of them waited out the worst of the protests in the coastal village of Sidi bou Said while Youssef, along with Dr. Hammami and the rest of the dedicated team from Aziza Othmana Hospital, remained at their posts in Tunis to treat the victims of brutality and confusion. Fortunately, they have reported few deaths.

Operation Skywalker cost at least 45,000 euros (US$63,234), or at least 7,500 euros (US$10,538) per student for a one-week course. By comparison, my initial four-month EMT training in Pittsburgh cost me US$235 plus a US$65 book. However, since it created the foundation for a Libyan emergency medicine course and the first six students saved dozens of lives already, Skywalker was well worth our time and the European Commission's money. The donated equipment that had been lost to Egypt arrived in Malta two days after I returned; it has been trans-shipped to Tunis, where Youssef can see it is brought to Libya.

It was an honor to be part of Skywalker, and a pleasure to see that its positive effects continue. The fate of Libya's new statehood remains a mystery to us, but as long as brave men and women with no hate in their hearts are at its helm, it is surely "mektub" - written.

That's the view from the ground.